


Rukmini

by GlyphArchive



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore, Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Character Study, Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 09:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20618831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlyphArchive/pseuds/GlyphArchive
Summary: A look at who she might have been, what she might have wanted.





	Rukmini

She is born in Vidarbha during _Vaishakh Ekadashi_, to King Bhishmaka and his dear wife. The auspiciousness of the occasion brings them joy – what better time to welcome a child into the world than during a celebration of Vishnu, the one who preserves the universe? Once she is cleaned and blessed, stomach full with her mother’s milk she is laid beside her twin. Rukmi’s hand jostles hers, their fingers clumsily curling around each other. Rukmini garbles something, to the amusement of her mother, and Rukmi answers with a strident cry.

It is a sign of closeness that will last all their lives, their parents hope.

* * *

Vidarbha is a prosperous city, for all it is a vassal kingdom under Jarasandha and his empire of Magadha’s watchful eyes. Bhishmaka makes his obeisance when necessary, ever careful to make sure there is no reason for Jarasandha to consider turning his attention towards their home any more than necessary. Rukmini, a child still and restless with the rules that keep girls locked behind palace walls (no exceptions, save for certain holidays); follows her father and her twin step for step as they routinely make pilgrimages to the war table and then to the chamber reserved for emissaries and honored guests.

Technically, she has no place here. A girl-child too young for marriage ought to be elsewhere. Learning dance, perhaps. Or the ever-so-stimulating process of needlework. Or how best to play her future husband’s favorite songs on the drum or with cymbals, with her own young voice as accompaniment. But Bhishmaka does not send her off and Rukmi is terribly overprotective of her no matter where she goes; so it is easiest to insinuate herself between them and learn what she might of these topics of statecraft.

She knows them best, then, as the things which draw lines across her father’s face or a subtle frown over her mother’s mouth. Rukmi, already brilliant if hot-tempered, has no reservations about going on and on about the greatness of Emperor Jarasandha or what might impress him.

Rukmini says nothing, weighing the heavy air of the room as something which she should be cautious of and watches the faces and hands of all assembled.

(This is the beginning of how she learns to tell a liar apart from others. What words they choose, the curtness of their gestures. A pinch at the corner of the eyes or a twitch of the mouth. Her brother may argue hotly as any young prince, but a princess has no voice in Vidarbha even if she is beloved. In time her visits into courtly politics will be more frequent, even as she learns those arts allowed to a woman.

Even better, it is those same visits which introduce her to the demand of finances and her skills with numbers is second to none. And if it earns her friends among the treasury, patient ears and willing hands to send messages along wherever they are needed – well, that is only by chance, is it not?)

* * *

Piety might be expected of a young woman, but Rukmini also finds comfort from Rukmi’s over-protectiveness within Indrani’s temple. It is one of the few places where an escort is frowned upon. Even her brother’s most devoted spies find it difficult, if not unseemly, to follow and report on one when they are involved in worship. Rukmini, of course, gives the goddess and other gods their due. She is grateful to them for all that she has. Even more so for Sunanda and his patience. That he listens to her concerns and has proven himself most efficient at smuggling letters out of Vidarbha.

“What is there to gain by leading such an assault on Mathura?” She murmurs under the guise of prayer, hyper-aware of every eye that might be upon them. Indrani’s temple is not terribly crowded this day, but at any moment someone might come to request her brahmin friend’s wisdom and if they are discovered then she will be without one more precious freedom and have lost a valuable friend.

His voice is patient when he replies, as though she had asked him to quote one of the scriptures instead of answer the most popular question circulating through her father’s court at present.

“Kamsa has met his end.” He meets her eye and briefly holds it, casting sacred ash upon the altar with practiced ease. “At the hands of his long-dreaded nephew. A cowherd, I am told. It is possible that, since your brother and Kamsa were friends, Rukmi seeks revenge for this act.”

A friendship which had only ever served to make Rukmini’s stomach turn when she thought about it. Kamsa might have once been a great man, in the past. But he had turned into a tyrant, paranoid and bloodthirsty; a known abuser, if not outright murderer, of women and children during the years of his reign. His alliance to Jarasandha might have been the stepping stone to earning Rukmi’s friendship, since her brother thought only the highest of Magadha’s emperor.

“He must be warned.” Rukmini says and from within the folds of her sari she carefully extends the letter which had cost her hours of sleep the night before to write. Not for lack of words, no. She had plenty to spare – but for the thought of Rukmi learning what she’d done. And what it might cost her if he did.

Sunanda’s weathered fingers closed around the parchment, tired eyes alert and grave. Most of all, _understanding_. “You would go to such lengths, Princess? To aid someone whom you do not even know?”

He did not outright say _you would betray your family?_, but Rukmini heard it anyway. It was not so far from the truth.

“If my brother’s forces reach Mathura before she might defend herself…” she lowered her voice, swallowing past the tightness which gripped her throat at the notion. Sunanda waited, letter already secreted away. “I had no love for Kamsa, or what he did. If this cowherd might be a better man, then I may at least do what I can to make sure he does not meet his end so soon after granting the world a boon with Kamsa’s death. Please,” she bowed, touching the tips of her fingers to the tops of Sunanda’s feet in reverence. “Ensure that someone receives it.”

“You are brave, child.” Affection softened the old brahmin’s voice and his hand was gentle when he patted the air above her head. “I shall do my best.”

* * *

Her brother’s frustration days later gives Rukmini hope that her letter had arrived in time to serve its purpose. Rukmi storms down the halls wherever he walks, throws his hands up into the air and fails to lower his voice in private. His disbelief that a bunch of cowherds could turn aside his militia becomes well known to everyone within the palace, though no one has the nerve to speak about it to his face. Rukmini says nothing, sternly forcing herself not to smile, and waits for her twin’s temper to fade before suggesting they take lunch together.

Rukmi, for all his anger and flaws, gradually softens. “It will need to be brief. I will have to report to the emperor about this.”

“After you have eaten.” Rukmini counters mildly. “No progress will be made if you are distracted by the rumbling of your stomach.”

He gives in, after that. For all she might dislike his watchfulness and paranoia when she goes about her own daily life, it is still a precious thing to be able to spend time with her brother. He is family.

“Thank you.” Rukmi grumbles after the last of his temper has burned away and he only looks tired instead of furious. “It is not so bad, not having to talk politics for once.”

Rukmini nods and pours him another cup of tea.

* * *

A reply to her letter comes only a few days later. The handwriting is slightly rough, but well-spaced and without mistakes. It had rained at some point during the letter’s journey but she is lucky enough that the ink had not run or smeared. There is no name on it – a thing she silently approves of, in case anyone should discover just who had sent a warning to those Rukmi deemed enemies. But the other sends their regards for her haste and kindliness, their gratitude for the risk she had taken on their part.

They also wish for her well-being, thoughtful enough to ask if she herself is safe in light of what information she had given away. At the end of the letter comes something that might well be a tease, unless her eyes and mind are failing her. A question if, perhaps, they might write to one another again. An offer of a listening ear and information, if she could make use of it.

Something about that wording pulls at the corner of her mouth, turning a concerned frown into a smile before she can help it. Before she is truly aware of it Rukmini lifts a hand to reach for her pen, for fresh parchment; a reply already writing itself in her mind even before the nib touches ink.

* * *

It is a curious friendship which builds over months and then years, through those letters. Though somewhat infrequent, they are nonetheless steady now that she has committed to continuing the correspondence. Her unknown contact speaks fluidly of politics, easily mixes in amusing anecdotes of managing a herd of cattle, tells her jokes and provides insights that she would not have expected before their talks began. In response she filled in her pages with stories of Vidarbha, of its people and customs, how her father’s court toes the necessary lines.

A reply she gets back expresses quiet admiration for her father and mother, for Rukmini herself; accompanied by well-wishes for the coming of a new year.

She writes back a suitably arch response, citing that her family needs no pity (they don’t) and they will face whatever storm awaits them. (They will)

The letter is sent with a flicker of delight she had not expected to feel and days that follow are marked with an undercurrent of excitement for what response she might receive. She is not disappointed, when it arrives. The first words on the page are a delighted apology for assuming, then a promise to never do so again.

Rukmi stares at her suspiciously when she sees him at dinner, so much so that she finally asks if she has spilled food on herself or been offensive. The tips of his ears color and he finally looks away, tearing off a portion of _naan_ with a grumble.

“I have never seen you smile quite so much.” He finally says, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Are you happy?” Rukmi asks, looking up at her with more care and concern than any of his naysayers think to give him.

“Yes.” Rukmini assures, surprised to find that it is true.

* * *

It does not last. Rukmi’s announcement mere days later is enough to steal the warmth from her bones and turn her stomach, as well as its contents, sour. He does not seem to notice it - her twin, half her mind and soul, oblivious as he waits for her to blush and lower her eyes; or whatever it is a woman is supposed to do when she hears that her marriage has been arranged.

(Rukmini knows exactly what she is supposed to do but her body remains frozen, suddenly heavy as the rushing in her ears threatens to drown out all else.)

Only when Rukmi’s brows furrow and his expression darkens does she finally come free of the spell, blinking her way back to awareness.

“Shishupala?” Rukmini echoes, her own voice too loud in her ears. “Son of Damaghosha?”

“Yes.” Rukmi’s face brightened all at once and he looked as though he may burst from the satisfaction of it. “He is a powerful man, on good terms with the Emperor. What better match could there be, when he is close friends with me as well?”

_And you did not think to ask me?_, the words pressed themselves along her tongue; begging to be spoken. _Your own sister!_

“Does he know?” She forced herself to ask instead, gripping the folds of her _pallu_ tightly. It seemed too thin a shield, right then. Embroidered silk that could not defend against the implications of her brother’s words, let alone her own emotions. “Does father?”

“Who do you think told them?” Rukmi huffed as though she were daft, frowning when he saw that she did not share in his excitement. “What is the matter? My friend is a good man. And this marriage will cement our place in the Emperor’s considerations. Why do you look so pale, Rukmini? You should be happy!”

Her stomach twisted, bone-deep revulsion that she could not name searing through her.

_No_, her mind insisted; recalling the last time she had seen Shishupala himself and how unsettling it had been to feel his eyes crawl over her father’s palace, the decorations, most of all herself. Anything of value, anything he might hope to claim for his own. _I could never be happy with that man. Not in this life, or any other._ Then: _And you would have delivered me to him unknowing, unprepared, if you thought I might have objected._

“I see.” She manages, softening her voice so that Rukmi might think her only stunned. “When, if the matter has already been settled, is our wedding to be?”

As she’d hoped, her twin’s shoulders drop their tension. He even smiles, albeit not with a great deal of comfort in the action; before saying, “Three days.”

Numbly she feels herself nod, unable to recall the rest of the conversation after that. _Three days!_, she thinks while pacing the length of her room and back; too anxious for sitting or paying mind to anything but that looming sentence. _Three days!_

Her feet bring her towards her desk at last, muscles in her legs screaming and the whirl of her mind far from settled. There is no time, unfortunately, to plan. No time to hope for better options, to even consider the madness of fleeing the palace on her own. The nib of her pen quivers when Rukmini sets it to the parchment and the ink runs, a little. Her words jumble together and she crosses them out - despairing that she cannot even hope for the seconds it would take to fetch another sheet, then sets to writing again.

_My friend_, she writes, and prays that her sense of urgency will come through.

It must, Rukmini knows. This is her one and only gamble, much as she might despise having to trust blindly in this instance.

_My friend,_

* * *

It is the messiest letter she has ever written, ink barely dry before she presses the folded parchment into Sunanda’s hands; bowing low as one might in hopes of a blessing. The action isn’t entirely for show. When she looks up there is concern in the brahmin’s eyes. He must, Rukmini thinks, be able to feel just how badly she is trembling; how much effort it had taken not to run as though on fire into Indrani’s temple.

“Deliver it quickly, please.” Rukmini whispers, half to him and half to whatever god or goddess might be listening. _Please._ “I have no more time to stay, and less to be myself after this.”

Understanding of a sort darkens Sunanda’s gaze. To her relief he nods, then passes a wrinkled palm over her hair without quite touching. Rukmini’s eyes fall shut despite herself and she manages to find a tiny bit of bliss in the dark.

If only she could stay. But that is a foolish hope, and every minute she spends frozen is precious time wasted.

“Be safe.” Sunanda tells her, as he departs.

Rukmini bows her head, earrings swinging, and dares to hope they might encounter one another again.

All that remains after that, unfortunately, is to prepare for the wedding and wait. The entire palace buzzes with activity and rarely is she alone. Her father cannot quite meet her eye whenever they are together; though she loves him as a daughter ought, she cannot forgive him just yet.

Rukmi strides through the halls proudly, always happy to remind everyone just who is coming; that this wedding will be a victory in securing firmer ties to the Magadha Empire. Her younger brothers trail after him, pay visits to the kitchens to steal sweets, none of them pay her any mind as she is handed from maid to maid; scolded, critiqued, dressed up and stripped more times in a day than she can bear to count.

Between the chaos and in what moments alone she has, the same thought plays out on a loop. It was several days ride out to Mathura for a single rider, with an equal amount of time needed for a return journey. And if the message were delayed, it would be too late.

* * *

In the end, she need not have worried it seemed. As she steps from the safety of Indrani’s temple there is only a moment for disappointment, certain that she has been left to her intended fate. Then another figure steps into her vision, all at once; dark as a storm-cloud and smiling gently as though they had already known each other forever.

“Forgive me.” The stranger says, before Rukmini can think to speak; then she is being lifted, carried down the temple steps. Still he smiles and despite all logic and reason Rukmini finds herself joining in. “We’ll have to continue our debate once you are properly free.”

_Free._ Her heart beat faster at that.

“Yes.” Rukmini agreed. “I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> A year and a half is what it took, but this story is finally done. I can't bring myself to regret any of it. And some mad part of me is clamoring to write something like this for the rest of the Ashtabharya(s?) as well.
> 
> Knowing me, I'll probably do it.~


End file.
